Til Death Do Us Part
by fYr3 ph03nix
Summary: He never thought that he'd have to say good-bye. Not like this. Not ever. Drabble-ish. AU-ish. Vignettes on their relationship. For Zemyx day. Complete.


**Title: **'Til Death Do Us Part**  
Fandom: **Kingdom Hearts/Chain of Memories/Kingdom Hearts II**  
Pairings: **ZexionDemyx**  
Genre: **angst/drama/romance**  
Type: **one-shot, vignettes on their relationship, AU**  
Rating: **PG for implied smex  
**Summary:** _He didn't think he'd have to say good-bye. Not like this. Not ever.  
_**AN:** For Zemyx day . . . though I'm not completely satisfied with how this turned out. I like the style, but I think it needs more story/description. I may or may not fix it later on, but I just wanted to have this up _today_. So yeah. Reviews and concrit is greatly appreciated. =)

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'_**Til Death Do Us Part  
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There is a man standing at the edge of a river, thinking, contemplating, reflecting. He is bundled up to combat against the cold and yet his hands are still shaking. Taking in a shuddering breath, he stuffs his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets and lowers his head into his scarf. He scuffs his booted foot against the gravel of the road, staring at it, unseeingly. The sun is sinking into the cloudy horizon and its light made everything glow so beautifully. A golden warmth, a gentle embrace, a ghost of a kiss.

—_myx._

Memories. So many memories.

Whispers of promises, screams of hate, cries of apologies, moans of pleasure.

Feelings of regret. Sorrow. Love.

_I'm . . . sor—_

I'm sorry.

A gasp, in an attempt to hold back sobs. But a tear trails down his cheek. He throws his head back and looks up to the painted sky. Beautiful, yet so lonely. He closes his eyes and the wind caresses him, drying his tears.

His fists clench within his pockets and he can feel the metal band around his ring finger of his left hand. He opens his eyes. "Never," he says, staring at the clouds above.

"Never."

* * *

"I don't understand you."

He looked over his shoulder and cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

His friend and lover leaned forward, elbows on the table, his fingers intertwined in front of his face. He remains silent for awhile, contemplating how to best put his thoughts into words before finally speaking, "Is it really so bad, to desire money and power?"

The blond frowned questioningly but before he could ask, his companion continued, "You could have everything, but you're throwing it all away and for what? A moment of self-gratification on the stage? For playing music?"

Glaring, finally understanding what his friend was talking about, he turned around and took a step forward. "I don't want any of it," he defended, "I never did. Running a corporation was never on my to-do list. _Music_ is my passion and nothing anyone would say would change my mind. I've had this argument countless times with my father; please don't make me have it with you as well."

"But _why_?" he asked, ignoring the blond's pleas of ceasing this line of conversation. "You'd never understand—you don't realize—how lucky you are." He stood up as well, palms flat against the table, staring into those cerulean eyes. "So many people around you would love to have what you have and so many others have to work their entire lives before even coming close to gaining what your father has achieved. Do you not see?"

"_No_, I don't," he replied vehemently. "If my heart is not into what I am doing, then nothing good will come out of it. I don't want to be stuck doing something I hate for the rest of my life; it'd make me miserable."

"Even then," the other shot back, "at least you'd have financial stability."

He growled, "Financial stability means _nothing_ to me personally, but my happiness does. I want to do what is in my heart, not what is _good_ for me. How can you say that wanting my own happiness is wrong?"

"It's not that your right to happiness is unfounded; it's the fact that you don't desire anything more."

"_Happiness_ is everything! _Money_ can only get you so far! I don't think _you_ understand, either."

"Maybe not," he said with quiet determination, "but I have never known true happiness; I've only a taste of it since I met you. The few things that I am absolutely certain about . . . is power and death. They're everywhere; I've seen them too often, lurking on the streets, poised to destroy another life, another family. Happiness is much too fleeting; it crumbles easily under pressure."

"You say that," the blond remarked calmly, "but there's a flaw in your argument. You say that you are certain of the existence of power and death in this world . . . you fear it yet you desire it. That's what you want, isn't it? Power? You want it so much because your life was ruined by it. But do you also desire death?"

"Death is inevitable for every living thing; it cannot be avoided."

"So you do."

"That is not what I said."

He let out a frustrated cry. "Damn it, make up your mind!"

His companion gazed at him silently, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he suddenly turned heel and walked away. "As should you." And he disappeared through the door.

* * *

He never would have thought that that he'd fall in love with such a person. A person that was so unlike himself. While one was energetic and optimistic, the other was stoic and cynical. How was it that they could even forge a friendship with such extreme differences? He didn't really believe in the 'opposites attract' theory, after all.

But there was something about him, something about his eyes, his demeanor, his poise . . . He had been captivated since the moment he saw him.

A smile crept onto his face when he remembered the first time he held him. Who would've thought that such a man was afraid of thunderstorms?

He also recalled how his friend had tried to comfort him, albeit rather awkwardly, when he was distressed and he had appreciated the effort.

The small, awkward smile he gave when he was uncomfortable in certain situations, the shifting of eyes when embarrassed, the arch of his eyebrow when he was incredulous.

Yes, he had fallen in love with him . . .

Then he suddenly wondered: _What should I do about it?_

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It had been over a week since their argument and he hadn't seen his lover since then which started him pondering if his partner's last words to him were a sort of farewell gesture. Was their relationship over now? Over a petty argument over which was more significant: money or happiness?

Maybe he ought to apologize, simply to keep the peace. He had missed him. He didn't want to lose him over something so trivial. Besides, he hadn't kept all of his promises yet, though some seemingly childish. And he had something important to give him. Something that he was planning even before their fight. Would he still accept it, he wondered.

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't hear his name being called, in fear, and only when he was shoved roughly in the back did he snap out of his reverie. He quickly caught himself, managing to only scuff the palms of his hands and from his position on the ground, turned around to see what had happened. Then his eyes widened in shock, horror.

It all happened so quickly, he couldn't think.

The screeching of tires and the unmistakable dull _thump_ of a collision.

Then there was blood.

There was so much of it.

Shattered glass.

It was everywhere.

An idling car, a cracked windshield and a crumpled body.

_His_ body.

_Oh, God, no._

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* * *

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"Hey."

The dark-haired man looked up and smiled softly in acknowledgment.

"So, what's up?"

He shrugged, "nothing much. And you?"

Smiling widely, knowing that he was only asking out of politeness, didn't bother to answer and instead changed the subject. "Are you free this weekend?"

His companion raised an eyebrow, "why are you asking?"

"Because . . ." he stressed and paused for dramatic effect, "there's a festival that I really really want to go to."

"And you are subtly asking me to go with you," he deadpanned.

His smile only widened.

A sigh, "all right, I concede. I shall go with you to the festival this weekend."

He let out a whoop of triumph, thrusting his fists in the air in a mini-celebratory dance. "I knew you couldn't resist my charms!"

The other simply rolled his eyes. "Of course."

He let out a laugh, "it's a date, then!"

His friend stiffened. "What?"

"Oh, you're not _that_ socially inhibited, are you?" he asked jokingly. "You know, a date: wherein two people who like each other go somewhere and hang out. Do you concur?"

His eye twitched at the blond's devilish smile and mocking tone, but he still couldn't quite get over the word that he had used. 'Date'? Did this mean he liked him in _that way_ or that he was simply teasing him? That would be cruel and unusual for the blond, but he most certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"Hey," he felt a tug at his hair and he looked up, only to be met with those eyes. "You're thinking too much."

And he leaned down to capture his lips in a brief but emotion-filled kiss. "I like you, okay? Truly. So don't think too much on it," he said when he pulled away, eyes dancing merrily.

His own eyes were wide, astonished. He wasn't a very emotional or physical person and _this_ had thoroughly fried his brain. Did the blond expect some sort of verbal affection in response? Because he didn't think he'd be able to, being the type of person he was. Would he mind, not hearing those words? When he finally collected his thoughts together, and just when he was going to reply, his not-really-friend-anymore put a finger against his lips to cut him off.

And then he smiled. The smile that had first captured his attention. "Don't worry. I know."

* * *

It couldn't be true. How could he believe something like that? He couldn't be _dead_. His lover, his friend . . . dead? Preposterous! But the doctor was standing in front of him, his lips moving—probably issuing empty condolences—but his mind not registering the words, not after the "I'm sorry but we were unable to save him".

How could it just _end_ like this? They hadn't reconciled over their fight, he hadn't fulfilled his promises, he hadn't given him _that_. And now he was gone? He couldn't, wouldn't, believe it.

_It's not true_.

He had to be alive; he had just felt those hands on his back mere moments ago, pushing him out of harms way. His lover was indestructible—he could conquer anything. The doctor's "I'm sorry but we were unable to save him" turned into a "He's lost a lot of blood but he's on the road to recovery". Because that was what he wanted to believe, what he wanted to cling to.

Because _it wasn't true._

A part of him died that day, when the truth finally managed to instill itself into his brain.

He was dead.

He didn't even get to say "I'm sorry".

He didn't get to say "I love you".

And now he would never have the chance.

Because he was gone.

_Zexion_.

* * *

He didn't think he'd seen anyone so entrancing before: cerulean colored eyes, dirty blond hair, a dazzling smile . . .

He was the complete opposite of himself in every possible way and yet . . .

"Hi!" the blond said brightly, extending a hand in greeting, "my name's Demyx. What's yours?"

And Zexion could do nothing but take the proffered hand in his own

"Zexion," he said, barely even hearing his own voice. "My name is Zexion."

And thus their story unfolded.

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**AN:** Review, please?


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